Your Warmth
by chiibi13
Summary: They were both perfectionists and to be honest, a little neurotic, which is why he supposed they would be good together. He'd long ago resigned himself to watching them together from afar. After all, in this fairy tale, he was the big, bad wolf. Sequel to 'Look At Me'. Rated T for language and minor sexual themes.


They were both perfectionists and to be honest, a little neurotic, which is why he supposed they would be good together. He'd long ago resigned himself to watching them together from afar. After all, in this fairy tale, he was the big, bad wolf.

It wasn't that he and Maka would be an odd-looking pair (a delinquent straight out of a bad vampire movie hand-in-hand with a straight laced, goody-two-shoes nerd) or that he was bugged by the flying accusations that he wasn't good enough from her stupid old man and all the other judgmental bastards that stared at them when they walked down the school halls and streets.

It was that he knew when he watched her, he had a predatory glint in his eyes; he wanted to be the only one for her, to be the only one to touch her, to _own_ her. He couldn't quite understand it himself but he wasn't about to question it - he knew what he felt and he couldn't help himself. But the knowledge that he was becoming borderline obsessive continued to slowly creep into his consciousness and spread like an infection.

He knew it wasn't healthy to be this fixated on a single person. He knew there was something wrong with being so selfish that he couldn't bear the thought of sharing her with anyone else, be it their friends, their family or even the Lord Death himself. He just couldn't seem appease the roaring beast in his belly that was brought to life whenever he saw her enjoying herself in the company of another man; like now, for instance.

He watched them from the corner of his eye as they discussed things that were no doubt, out of the reach of his inferior intellect; Maka would happily chirp on ("Missions, kishins, books, books, _blah blah blah_") while Kid would nod stoically and then reply with something that was apparently _oh, so fucking funny_ so Maka would let out an airy little laugh and playfully smack his arm.

Alright, so he watched them but it didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"Yo, Soul! Hey! Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, 'Star, I'm listening," he sighed, turning his focus to the blue-haired wonder before him.

"I found this awesome new training technique where-!" Black Star continued but Soul had already began to tune him out.

He was far too busy concentrating on the sound of his meister's light, tinkering laugh and how the way she said,_"Kid-kun"_ was far too inappropriate in his ears. He knew it only encouraged Kid more and seeing as how he'd been spending so much time with Maka, his meister and he wouldn't be surprised if the death god had feelings for her. He'd bet it would have to do something with Maka's pigtails being symmetrical or some shit.

Obsessive, compulsive _bastard_.

"Hey - you're not even listening!" Black Star exclaimed, arms folded crossly. Soul reverted his attention back to his friend, belatedly becoming aware of the angry glower that marred his face and scholed it into an apologetic expression.

"Sorry, man," Soul sighed, rubbing the back of his neck trying to appease pouting boy. "I'm sure your new training method-"

"-GODLY TECHNIQUE-"

"- will make you surpass God or whatever," Soul finished, choosing to ignore the indignant ninja's interjection.

Instead of loudly agreeing as per usual, Black Star simply uncrossed his arms to place them on his hips, a scrunched up expression of curiosity playing his features.

"You alright, Soul? You look out of it, man," he asked, rudely intruding the demon-scythe's personal space to give him a scrutinizing once-over. His sharp eyes caught sight of Maka and Kid's cheerfully chatting over Soul's shoulder but the weapon quickly shoved the boy away from his face before he could comment on it.

"I'm fine," he growled, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

A rare moment of silence fell over the two as Black Star pondered on what could possibly be troubling his friend so much that he couldn't listen to the god standing before him. His eyes darted back and forth from his scowling friend to the scene over his shoulder, the puzzle pieces slowly falling into place. Suddenly, his divine wisdom granted him the answer to all.

"I KNOW! YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE NOT BEEN IN MY ALMIGHTY PRESENCE ENOUGH! COME, SOUL!" he exclaimed, opening his arms as if to radiate his godliness better,"COME, BASK ALL YOU NEED!"

Soul felt his eyebrow twitch. As he lightly dusted the newly formed wrinkles on his pants from kicking Black Star squarely in the stomach, he vaguely wondered if he should get new friends.

* * *

He'd known her long enough to know that she was hiding something from him.

After years of practice, he could read her like the books she was so fond of; a skill he had developed during the course of their partnership but had eventually turned into double-edged sword. He was hyper-sensitive to her now, too aware of what she did and what she felt. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of something dangerous, an unspoken boundary set between them but he couldn't help himself but try and test the waters every so often; a wink here and a little compliment _there_...

He was tip-toeing on lines that had begun to blur and it was definitely not cool because every god damn thing she did now began to hold some hidden meaning to him - a pause in conversation, the pursing of her lips, a small sigh. He wracked his head trying to read between the lines of it all with the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that it wasn't healthy to be looking for answers to questions that weren't even there in the first place.

He knew it was even more dangerous that everything he had once found grating about her had become endearing. Her stupid pigtails and her childish naivete had become adorable, her eyes and milky skin, suddenly alluring. Even the clash of violent tendencies and girly softness that seemed to make up her personality had seemed to become captivating. How was it possible that she could be one of the most complexly simple people he'd ever encountered? She was an an enigma wrapped in an oxymoron and once he thought he finally cracked the code, she made a complete 360 degree turn and knocked the wind straight out of his lungs.

He felt frustratingly out of control and so fucking uncool because he'd been reduced to this by a single girl who didn't even know what she was doing to him. He knew that as her weapon, he was obliged followed her orders but he was sure that bending over backwards to her every whim and will - albeit in his own time and reluctance - was definitely not in the job description. Not every weapon would be willing to give up their life as readily as he would for her.

He had always prided himself in being a self-sufficient introvert; too cool for the snobs he grew up with and too bad-ass for the nerds like Maka. But she just had this way of getting through to people and he was no exception. She'd somehow broken through the tough exterior he'd grown and never stopped digging til she reached the core of his being and filled up every crevice within him.

It was the first time someone had ever broken through his cool facade and despite his protests at first, he didn't mind; enjoyed it, even. Growing up, he lived in a big, pretty house, had filthy rich parents and dined and wined in luxury but it was all just for show, all had felt so _cold_. And now that he had Maka and he finally knew what real warmth felt like, knew the taste of something so dangerously close to happiness, he wasn't about to let it go - it was too enticing and far too intoxicating for him to live without.

But now his need for her in his daily life was almost crippling and he knew it was coming to bite him in the ass. Why? Because he could feel his precious meister slipping through his fingers.

She'd been avoiding him for the past couple of months. She'd hole herself up in her room every chance she got, which at first, Soul didn't mind so much. He thought she just wanted some some space. After all, a young woman living with a young man such as himself was entitled to her privacy (or so his gentleman upbringing had told him).

Then he noticed that she'd become far too forgiving. At first, he rejoiced, able to get away with a snide comment about her lacking physique and only coming out of it sporting a bruise on his arm from her death-pinches or at best, a few sore ribs.

But then they stopped holding hands. He never realized how much they did it until they stopped all of a sudden and though he'd never admit it aloud, he missed finding her small, gloved hand searching for his own and the comfort the small gesture provided. He'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt when he last reached for her but only found himself feebly clutching at thin, cold air as he watched her retreating back walk on ahead of him.

But he was a big boy and he could have dealt with all of that. He could have lived without the Maka-chops, the hand-holding and her constant presence by his side even if he would sorely miss it all.

What really got to him, what I really made him reach his breaking point was that she stopped looking at him.

Sometimes she'd look straight past him, as if he weren't really there and she was talking to the wall behind him instead. He'd keep on searching for those deep, mossy-green eyes but she continually hid them from his own and it was inexplicably driving him mad. It made her feel so distant, so cold. He couldn't reach her warmth anymore and it was driving him insane.

And the longer he went without it, the more desperate he became for it. He was like an addict in withdrawal, itching for his fix. It made him feel so weak and powerless so hid behind a cool and collected demeanor but he could feel it slowly start to thin.

So he searched for a reason, an explanation for her behavior but the more he thought about it, a growing fear that the he was the source of the problem began to lurch up his spine. He was scarred both inside and out, his twisted self only further marred by the black blood that tainted his blood stream and his sanity. Was that why things had crashed into a hillside and gone down a downward spiral? Because he was a danger to both of them?

It was on nights like these that he stayed up until the wee hours of the morn in the suffocating confines of his room thinking, hoping, searching for answers different from the ones his sleep-deprived brain drew. Then her careful eyes and tight-lipped smile would flash through his mind and he'd come to the same conclusion every damn time.

She was distancing herself from him. And she _really_ needed to stop because it was really fucking with his brain and becoming really fucking annoying because it was making him think and feel things he really didn't want to deal with right now, not when she wouldn't even _look at him._

Then, as always a realization would come crashing down on him, the weight of it making his jaw clench and his eyes screw shut as it always did; He was her weapon, her partner. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. He had no claim on her.

_He needed to find a logical explanation for these indecipherable emotions to anchor him down and distract him._

_He needed to fix this because as her weapon, he needed to protect her. Whatever she was dealing with was interfering with their resonance. And if they didn't resonate, he couldn't be strong enough to protect her._

_Without her wave-length, the black blood, the insanity got to him._

That's why he was going crazy without her. That's why he needed her.

* * *

**A/N:**

Whoop, there it is! Many apologies that it's taken this long to put this up. And yes, this is going to be a multi-chapter story. Next chapter will be up soon.

Any thoughts? Violent reactions? Send a review and my people will get back to you!


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